Durion's House. June 12, SA 543
THRANDUIL glared at Eryn.
"Why do we have to clean up?"
"Well," she placed her hands on her waist and looked up at him. "Aron and Durion cooked the dishes. And I baked the bread and made dessert."
"Elrond and I hunted."
"We all out there foraging for the ingredients so that doesn't count. Now get!"
Thranduil frowned down at the petite woman.
"Come, Thranduil. It is the least we could do. Thank you for the lovely meal, Mistress Eryn. We will make sure everything is shiny and clean." Elrond took the tray Eryn gave him, piled high with the dirty dishes.
"Eryn, you know these two are princes, the ones you are ordering around, yes?" Aron stifled a chuckle.
"In my house, they no princes. They family. And here everybody work. That is the rule under my roof."
"The lady of the house has spoken," Durion opened the door with a flourish. "Lads, do the honors."
The trail through the glade in front of Durion's house to the waterfall was in full bloom, filled with fragrant pink and white wildflowers.
"Telling me what to do. And that was a dinner to celebrate my Begotten Day," Thranduil grumbled. It was two moons later, but they had surprised him with a belated begotten day presents at the dinner.
When he found a spot with a shallow area to dunk the dirty dishes in the water, Thranduil crouched down. "Who does she think she is?"
"Stop complaining. I already know you like her." Elrond sat down next to Thranduil to wash the pots.
"You are mistaken."
"This is me you are speaking to, idiot," Elrond smirked.
"Yes, yes. I forget. You know everything."
"Not everything. But I know you appreciate people who stand up to you. Probably the same reason you are fond of Lalaithwen." Elrond chuckled as he picked up a handful of sand to scrub the dirty pot.
Lalaithwen.
A wisp of wind swooshed past Thranduil, stirring his blade straight hair. An ache he had ignored and locked away rolled and plopped into the secret lake, sending a ripple through his carefully guarded heart. He had not allowed it, so why was there this ache?
"What does it matter? I will be leaving soon." Thranduil concentrated on a greasy spot on the plate he was cleaning.
Elrond stopped scrubbing and turned to him. Thranduil realized, too late, the slip of his tongue. He always said too much to Elrond. Thranduil refused to look at his friend. It was times like this when he resented Elrond's perceptiveness.
"Thranduil, you…?" The Half-elven gazed at him, his mouth agape. "All this time? You must know. Surely, you know Lalaithwen cares for you. I thought it was you…"
"Some things are not meant to be." Thranduil rubbed harder at the small spot that refused to come clean.
"But if the feeling is mutual, what is there to stop you? Have you spoken to her? I am sure if you ask her, even if you were to leave here, she will go with you."
Thranduil dropped the plate back into the water and turned to Elrond. "And how do you think she will fare, Elrond? Among the Sindar who are traumatized by what happened to them? They will not love her."
"You don't know that. And she is no delicate flower."
Thranduil let out a long sigh. "Hardy? Yes, she is. But what if the destination alone is not the problem? Leaving family and friends and the world that is familiar to you, that alone takes strength. But imagine having to live among the people who look at you and see in your face the reminder of a tragedy they cannot forget. It will not be at all like you and your brother living among the Feanorians, Elrond. No matter what they did at Sirion, Feanorians cared for you, owed you their care. And even if that was not so, you and your brother were their kin. But those people who went with my father left Lindon because they did not want to live with the Noldor."
"But you love her, and she loves you. That must mean something."
"Love?" Thranduil scoffed. "Is that what this is? All I know is that she fascinates me, and I suppose I fascinate her. And perhaps these feelings could become more if allowed to deepen, but are they enough?" Thranduil let go of the plate in his hand. "If I was born in the Second Age, or if none of the terrible things happened to me, maybe I could have been a different person. Then, perhaps I could say, with conviction, I love her, marry her and be content." Thranduil turned to Elrond. "But I am not that person."
"So, what if you are not that person? Love is love no matter who you are. If two hearts feel the same, what can it not conquer?"
Thranduil looked up at the sky. The sun was sinking, dipping its reddish feet in the water. Long shadows were darkening the air about them. He wanted to believe, like Elrond, that mutual feelings alone were enough. But he had seen too much of the world to believe that.
"I want to believe that love is about just two people and their feelings. But that would be true only if we lived alone in the world with no one to answer to. Have you thought about what it would be like for her if she were to come with me? The people who left with my father could not live in Lindon because they could not forget the violence and the loss they suffered at the hands of the Noldor. Even when she had no hand in the kinslaying, they will reject her. And she has only ever known love and admiration. She is a flower used to the warmth of the sun. Hardy, she may be, but when you transplant a warm-weather flower to a place full of snow and frigid temperatures, how long do you think it will last?"
"You must trust in her strength."
"Yes, she will brave the weather, and perhaps win a friend or two. But, what if the one for whom she had given up her world fails her?"
"I don't understand."
Thranduil massaged his temple. Abandoning the dishes, he sat down on a large rock by the water's edge. Elrond looked up from where he sat.
"Every so often, I dream of that time… in Sirion, or worse at Menegroth." Thranduil squeezed his eyes close, trying to shut out the image of his brother, the blood and the smoke. The ever-flowing time had lessened the sting, but his immortal memories remained vivid as ever.
"And what shall I say, Elrond, when I wake up after one of my nightmares and see her face? Do you think I will find comfort in her? Would I be able to tell her about my nightmares? Tell her about my horror and anger? Would she be able to look me in the eye and tell me everything is all right? And what of my father? Am I to ignore his feelings? Tell myself that my feelings triumph over his, he who had lost so much more than I have?" The ache grew and sat on his chest like a boulder.
Thranduil gazed at Elrond. "Dreams are not real. And people like you and I, we are not meant to love."
Elrond's eyes wavered. "People like you and I?"
"Perhaps not you. Just me."
He was broken. Pretending he was like other people was a lie. The inability to generate a clear light, the way that dragon blood took to him, Thranduil knew what that meant. The darkness lingered within him. Refusing to accept that did not make it untrue. He knew it, accepted it, and resigned himself to it. Even Sauron said so. The Maia was a liar, but Thranduil knew there was also truth in his words.
"You are wrong, Thranduil. People like us have more capacity to love because we know what loss is. And you are not broken."
Thranduil glared at Elrond. "Are you inside my head?"
"I don't need to be inside your head to know what you are thinking, stupid. I don't know a lot of things, and I don't know other people, but I know you." Elrond looked directly into Thranduil's eyes. "You think you are broken, but you are not. You are just lost. There are too many fogs that hide your path, and you have stumbled on the rocks and pebbles on the road. You have been wandering in the dark, in the night forest. But the sun will rise, Thranduil. No matter how desperate, how hopeless your wanderings have been, the sun will rise and melt away those fogs. Then, you will see that the forest which had been a nightmare to you was just a forest of trees and flowers. But until then, let her be the beacon to guide you, and let me be your companion. I will walk with you, Thranduil Oropherion. Whatever darkness we must overcome, we will do it together."
Thranduil could not help the corner of his lips lift. "Silver-tongued bastard."
"Actually, the right term is gold tongued." Elrond corrected him. "Lord Celeborn already has that title. You know, he is a Sinda. So silver."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Hairy-chest."
"Watch your language, Flower-head."
"Do you really want to call me that when you are the one who made me into one?" Thranduil got up. "We still didn't settle that matter, have we?"
"Nah-ah," Elrond jumped a few steps away, picking up the pot. "Remember, I fixed it, and I can unfix it, too."
Thranduil scoffed, then sat back down.
"Besides, why go east?" Elrond came back to sit down next to him. "You are no longer a child. Children grow up and leave their parents to make a home of their own. That is the nature of things. Stay here, Thranduil. With me. With her."
"And what am I going to do here, Elrond? All I know is how to fight. The king has plenty of warriors. And this teaching thing, you know I am not good at it."
They were no longer captains. He knew their disobedience would cost them, but he had not expected Gilmagor to take away their commission. The Lord Commander had stripped them of their rank. They no longer had any obligations for the rest of the year until the next new year when they were demoted as the trainers to the coming recruits.
"You are wrong. There is a lot of good you can do at Lindon."
"You expect me to be your king's lackey for all eternity?"
"Training new warriors is an honorable job. You are not subjected to the king and his schedule as you were when you were with the Royal Guards. But if you don't like the position, you can always accept the Council's offer to join them. They have recognized your valor and your part in fighting Sauron at the north. You are welcome to go anywhere in Lindon, to learn anything you wish at the expense of the king. Build a house on that property Lord Cirdan gave you. The one that your father used to use when he was here. By staying, you could do a lot of good for your people by making sure there are good policies for Sindar and Nandor. You could be their protector, a leader for your people."
"They have you to protect them, Elrond. And there are Lord Cirdan and Celeborn. Can you see me like that, a protector of the people?" Thranduil chuckled. "And a councilor? Valar forbid! Send me out to a battlefield. I may do some good there, but I am not good at dealing with the Councilors or fighting for the rights of the people. That is what people who have talent in governing do. I have no such talent."
"You underestimate yourself."
"No, Elrond. I know what I am good at and strutting around in pretty robes and telling others what to do are not my strength."
"You think you are not, but you are good at reading people, Thranduil. You understand much more than you let on. I think if it was anyone else but you, I don't know if we would have gotten out of that cave with minimal loss."
"I don't know about that, but I will tell you one thing. We made it because you trusted me. I don't know if I would have had the faith you did. How could you have trusted so completely? I could have turned on you. I could have been that Silmacil—what was his name?"
"Rusco."
"He was under Sauron's command. In time, that would have been me."
Thranduil shivered. He was certain Sauron had given Rusco the dragon blood. That was the only thing that made sense, the way that Silmacil recovered after being burned like that. It reminded him of the burn from the dragon fire he received at the Dwarven ruin. He didn't realize he recovered until Astarno showed up at the Throne Room in that ruin.
"Let us hope that there are no more of those collars. At least, everything within that mountain was destroyed. According to the latest report from Thoron and Baldor, few Orcs survived from that eruption."
The Silmacils were to join the Doriathrin warriors from his father to clear the Misty Mountains of the remaining Orcs and trolls who had escaped the collapsed caves. Although they knew it was near impossible to eradicate the entire race of Orcs and trolls, they would do what they can.
"Do you think Bodvar and his people will be all right?" Elrond looked across the stream. "The king had hoped they would stay. We could have been allies."
"Well, Bodvar said his people always planned to return to the Misty Mountains. They only moved to Forochel to be with the White Bears after Orcs took their home, but now that most of that clan is gone, there is nothing to hold them to that place. Losing his father had been devastating for him, but he has his family. He is a good man, strong and wise. He will do right by his people."
Elrond smiled. "You must really like Bodvar. I don't think I have heard you speak so highly of another. And a man at that."
"I am just glad I had a chance to explain my actions to him. I would have hated to have left the things the way we had at the mountain."
"And you have Mistress Eryn to thank for that. Remember that next time."
That was true. Had it not been for the help Eryn and the Elven soldiers gave Bodvar to fight Skuld, Thranduil would not have had the opportunity to explain himself to Bodvar.
"If they didn't go back to the village, Bodvar may not have survived the Orc attack. When you think about it, it makes you wonder how things all worked out even though we lost people. It could have been so much worse." Elrond shivered.
Once they escaped the falling and erupting mountain, the morning sun rose. And with the light, they saw the black smoke rising from the direction of the village. By the time they arrived at Bodvar's village, they found most of the homes burnt down and the rest smoldering. But more than half of the villagers were alive, aided by the Elven soldiers.
"Hopefully, Sauron lost his supply of those gold collars when the mountain erupted." Elrond pulled his warrior's braid.
"My guess is that he had a limited supply. They were made of solid gold and if Sauron had more of them, I do not see how he would not have used it on the rest of the Silmacil." Thranduil had wondered about that, and the more he thought it, he felt the collar would not have worked without dragon blood. Otherwise, it didn't make sense that Sauron wasted the gold collar on the Skin-changer and himself when he could have used them on the Silmacils.
While helping Bodvar's people salvage what they could from the village, Gilmagor had questioned both Thranduil and Elrond as well as Aron. And the Silmacils questioned everyone else, the Skin-changers, the scouts, even Eryn. Because Thranduil had to translate for the Silmacils with the Skin-changers, he was able to gather a few pieces of information others did not tell him: that Elrond could have escaped with Eryn but remained at the village to wait for his return; that Bjorn under the influence of the gold collar almost killed Elrond; and Skuld who took Yrsa almost succeeded in taking over the village if it wasn't for Eryn. She had escaped the village with the other soldiers. When her group met the Elven scouts returning to the East Fort, she convinced convinced them to return to the village to rescue Elrond.
"The way they had affected Bjorn and Rusco, I don't doubt the collars were powerful. Even Rusco broke under its power." Elrond shook his head. "Perhaps you are right. Sauron did not give each Silmacil one because he didn't have enough. Can you imagine what he would have been able to do by controlling all those Silmacils? But then why did Sauron waste the gold collar on Bjorn when he could have used it on another Silmacil?"
Elrond was thinking through it now, but Thranduil did not what he was thinking. It meant he had to tell Elrond about the dragon blood.
"It seems the longer one was under its influence, the more control it had over you. Thank the Valar that you were not under its influence for long. At least, that is their assessment. Otherwise, things would have gone terribly."
Thranduil wondered if he should tell Elrond. No one had asked about the dragon blood at the Council Chamber. Not even the Silmacils. It meant none of them was aware of it, and Thranduil did not volunteer the information. He didn't know why. Perhaps, he was afraid. Thranduil wasn't sure. For a while, Thranduil feared someone would connect it with his injury at the Dwarven ruin, but no one knew about the dragon burn. And the burn that Sauron had given him had taken a long time to heal, unlike Rusco's burns.
Although he had not mentioned it to the Councilors, Thranduil had wanted to tell Elrond. But he had not found a right moment to talk about it. Now that the chance presented itself, Thranduil hesitated. What will Elrond think? Was it necessary for Elrond to know? A voice whispered. What he does not know would not hurt him.
Thranduil inhaled a long breath. Elrond deserved the truth; his friend deserved his trust.
"It wasn't just the collar."
Elrond turned to him, his clear gray eyes unsuspecting.
Suddenly, fear clutched the inside of his stomach.
What if Elrond thinks I am tainted? No one would know if I don't say anything.
"What is it?" Elrond's eyes clouded.
"There is something I did not mention to the Council. Remember at Bodvar's village I told you that I have something to tell you."
Was it his imagination that Elrond's hand holding the pot went rigid? Did he know about the dragon blood already? If Elrond did, Sauron would have been the source of that information as no one knew except that accursed Maia. But Elrond mentioned nothing about the dragon blood to the Council.
Thranduil dropped his gaze when Elrond turned to him fully. He could not meet Elrond's eyes.
"Back in the Dwarven ruin, I told you I made a deal with the dragon."
He heard Elrond taking a quick intake of breath. Thranduil had told Elrond about making a deal with the dragon, but he had glossed over the details.
"You asked me how my injured leg healed so fast. Remember that?"
Elrond sat there still as the boulder underneath him.
"I told you it healed quicker than I expected, but I didn't tell you how." Thranduil took in a quick breath. "The thing is, the dragon blood healed me."
Elrond seemed to hold his breath. "How?"
"I drank it."
When Elrond remained silent, Thranduil dared a look in his friend's direction. Elrond got up. He looked up at the sky as twilight descended onto them. Elrond was silent for so long, fear slid around Thranduil, tightening around him. He could not breath.
"I wanted to tell you. I would have told you back at Bodvar's village… I planned to tell you. Then, Bodvar put the collar on me, then…"
"But you drank the blood at the Dwarven ruin, not at Bodvar's village. Four centuries ago. Four centuries! You had four centuries to tell me. After all the things…." Elrond turned away. "That Maia said you did, but I didn't believe him. I thought I know you better."
"Not that I didn't trust you. I just…" What had he thought? Thranduil got up, trying to find the right words that did not come.
"So, Sauron was right, after all. You did not trust me. Not really."
The look of hurt on Elrond's face was palpable. With freshly honed iron claws, the pain of it tore through Thranduil's heart.
"I believed in you." Elrond clenched his teeth. He almost choked on the next words. "I trusted you. I thought I knew you better than that twisted Maia. But it seems I didn't know you at all. And here I was, thinking we are friends. Were we ever one? You desire to stand alone in the dark, then so be it."
Elrond picked up the plates and the pots, threw them on the tray, the crashing sound of the plates and pans enough to make Thranduil wince. Then, the Half-elven stalked off toward the direction of Durion's house.
The twilight dissolved into the night that descended suddenly and filled the grounds of the waterfall. Thranduil stood alone in the dark of the night. It seemed to him the world suddenly lost all its light.
"Dammit!"
Stifling the desire to scream, Thranduil kicked the stones by the water's edge. He grabbed the back of his head and paced where he stood.
"What do I do?" Thranduil asked once he calmed.
"Talk to him," a quiet voice answered back. "It is his fear talking. He doesn't mean them."
Thranduil did not turn around. He knew Aron was there for some time now, quietly waiting for Thranduil to acknowledge him. Aron was like that. Always careful not to intrude.
"When we give trust, we expect it back. All relationships are like that, Thranduil. It is a give and take."
"Maybe I am incapable of trusting anyone. I know only how to take."
"You know better than that, Thranduil. I am inclined to believe you thought you were protecting him, or you feared his judgment of you. You care for him more than I have seen you care for anyone. Well, besides your father, and us, of course." Aron smiled. "Although, you didn't tell us, either."
Thranduil's shoulders drooped beside him. Aron laid his hand on Thranduil's shoulder and patted.
"What happened, happened. But you can always remedy it. What is this about dragon blood?"
Thranduil let out a long sigh. "Remember what I told you about the dragon's proposal?"
Aron nodded.
"What I didn't mention was that the injury I sustained in the hands of the Orcs was more terrible than I let on. I don't doubt now that if it wasn't for the dragon blood, I would have been crippled for life, perhaps even permanently scarred. We are talking about dragon fire."
"I thought healers at the North Fort healed the injury."
"They calmed the pain, but that injury was from Sauron. I encountered a dragonling before I encountered that evil Maia. But that burn from the dragon fire healed with no intervention from anyone, and you know what they say about the dragon fires." No one survived dragon fires; at least, they knew of no one who had.
"Then, perhaps, there is nothing evil about the dragon blood."
Thranduil lowered his eyes. How he wished that were so. The more he thought of it, the dragon blood may be the important ingredient to the power that the gold collar had. And he guessed that Sauron either did not have enough of the blood or it didn't work on everyone. Perhaps both. That dragon, she said it took darkness to bind.
"Sauron said to me, at the mountain, that the dragon blood will remain within me forever… that the dragon controlled me, and he controlled the dragon… that he will control me sooner or later." Thranduil fisted his hands to keep them from trembling. He didn't want Aron to see his fear.
"Thranduil, look at me," Aron stepped closer, his hands now on both of Thranduil's shoulders. "You fought your shadows all through the years after Sirion. Alone. With no one to help you. We knew we could not help you, so we just stayed by your side. Because that was all we could do. Do you know what your father said to me? He said your mother's blood runs true in you. He believed there was strength in you that you were not even aware you had. He believed, and so did we. We still believe. Trust me, Thranduil, if you do not trust yourself. You are a lot stronger than you think you are."
His eyes stung. Thranduil looked up and blinked away the tears. "My father hardly looked at me during those years."
"Ai, Thranduil." Aron shook his head. "Why do children not understand their parents? Trust me, elfling. He was always watching you. All through those years while he wandered Eriador. Before and after. Anyone who had been there with Lord Oropher could not mistake it. No father is prouder of his son than your father is of you." Aron turned to the night sky. "Do you even know how hard your father negotiated with Gil-galad to have you return to him sooner?"
"I heard. I already spoke with Lord Istuion before he left, but I will serve out my entire term."
"What? Why? Didn't the Council gave you a choice?"
"I do not want to owe anything to Gil-galad. Only 177 years are left in my term. I have waited all this time. I could wait less than two centuries. And… perhaps there is a way to deal with the dragon blood in me. I will have a better chance of finding the answers here."
Aron nodded. "I suppose you are right. I will have to tell Durion to go ahead without us, then."
"Did he not come to settle down here?"
"He came to take you back to your father."
"But Eryn."
"Durion did not plan to fall in love. That is not something you can plan." Aron chuckled. "But she knows his plans. We are all waiting for you."
"But you have made a life here for yourself. You need not come with me."
"Elfling! I stayed because I did not want to be parted from you. Lord Cirdan already knows, and so does my uncle. That was why he insisted I leave you and Durion halfway through that period of wandering. He wanted me to train and become, as he puts it, 'more useful.'"
"I don't want your sacrifice."
"Who says it is a sacrifice?"
"You are doing this because you think you owe my brother."
Aron frowned. "Do not assume, Thranduil."
"Am I? Do you think I do not know that you think my brother gave his life for you? You want to dedicate your life to me, for my brother's sake, because you think it is what Thra… Thranarin would have wanted. I appreciate what you and Durion are doing. But I can take care of myself. And I know my brother. He would not want you two to sacrifice yourselves for me or for anyone."
"What the hell are you talking about, elfling?" Aron shook his head. "Come down from your high horses, little princeling. Our loyalty lies with Lord Oropher. It is natural for us to want to make sure his son is well. Sacrifice? I never thought of it as such. If you plan to stay around for a while longer, go appease Elrond and stop burning down every bridge you make. It is bad enough you make trouble everywhere you go."
Aron pushed Thranduil's back toward the flet built near Durion's house. Three of them were supposed to sleep there as Durion and Eryn were still considered to be in their honeymoon stage.
"I will be sleeping on a tree around here, so take all the time to talk." Aron walked toward a group of trees near the waterfall. "And pray that Elrond is nothing like Elwing. You know how terrifying she was when she got mad." Aron waved.
"Aron!" Thranduil called out despite the tightness in his throat. "I'm glad you are back with us."
The Sindarin warrior smiled. "Me, too, elfling. Me, too."
When Thranduil reached the tree, Elrond was waiting for him. One look was enough to know the Half-elven was angry. Well, more than angry.
Thranduil knew that look, the gray eyes burning like the blades on fire. When Elwing used to have those eyes, he and Earendil would hide among the reeds of Lisgardh, waiting for Elwing to cool down.
"Come with me." Elrond turned and stomped into the forest.
"Aron said he wasn't…"
Elrond did not stop and disappeared among the trees. Thranduil gulped, then quickened his pace to keep up. Elrond did not turn nor stop to wait for him. Even under the faint light of the stars, Thranduil could see the rigid line of Elrond's shoulders and the fisted hands.
Thranduil thought of running away and hiding, the way he used to do with Earendil when Elwing got mad. She would rant and cry, but eventually, she would calm, and by the time he and Earendil came out and said sorry, she always forgave them.
He had done that occasionally with Elrond because Thranduil knew Elrond, too, would eventually forgive him. The Half-elven was so much like his mother in this. But this time was not one of those times.
He could say sorry when he made mistakes, but this time, it was not a mistake. This time, it was about trust. And trust was not just about forgiveness. Elrond, being Elrond, he could forgive, but would he be able to forget and trust him again? A broken trust was almost impossible to mend, and even by some enchantment it did, it would never be the same. And Thranduil knew that better than anyone.
There was no easy way out. Not this time.
What could he say? He was terrible with words. Nothing ever came out the way he wanted, especially when he needed to say the right things. It had always been easier just to listen or act deaf and walk away. So, when Elrond talked, Thranduil mostly listened. It was not that he did not want to share his feelings. His throat would just close up and words would elude him.
And Thranduil knew what kind of faith and trust Elrond must have had in him. He had heard it clearly when Gilmagor called out for Elrond to use the King's Gambit. Thranduil did not know the technique, but the Royal Guards were taught to keep their distance from the king when they are out in the open, especially when the king led in an open attack. He knew the technique was powerful and deadly to those around the king, as it was meant to be used to clear the surrounding area of enemies to gain ground. It was also used as a last defensive act when the king was surrounded by enemies, although it required sacrificing of the guards nearest him.
Elrond stopped.
It was so sudden, Thranduil almost ran into him. They were under the night sky, in a glade far from Durion's house. Thranduil's heart boomed.
It was now or never. He needed to show Elrond that he trusted him, too. But his throat thickened and no sound would come. His father had told him once that when you trust completely, you gain one of two things: a friend for life or a lesson for life. And he knew how painful that lesson was.
But his friend had been there for him. Stood by him. Believed him. Trusted him.
Elrond turned.
Thranduil opened his mouth, but no words came. His mind was blank.
He did the only thing he could think of doing. Thranduil grabbed Elrond's hand and placed it on his head, then he opened himself wide.
He held nothing back. All the feelings, thoughts, doubts, fears, and pain that he carried gushed out as if the steel and ice gates, behind which Thranduil hid everything that he could not express, broke. All the things he wanted to say: his gratitude, respect, pride, and love he felt for his friend and those things he did not want to say: his fears, humiliations, envy, and shame. He showed Elrond everything that happened in the ruin, at the north, all the things he did not mention. Everything.
The forest was silent. Only swooshing winds and the ethereal music of the trees whispered among the thick green leaves.
Elrond plopped down where he stood as if his legs were too weak to support him. Expelling a long sigh, Thranduil fell down next to Elrond.
The silver moon shone brightly high above.
The wind swirled and the whispering melodies of the music of the trees filled the glade.
Thranduil let out another long breath. He did not realize that the unburdening of his heart could make him feel this light. He felt light as a leaf to be swept away by the winds. He closed his eyes and inhaled then exhaled. His chest filled with warmth. All the frozen things he carried, the winter in his heart seemed to melt and fill his chest. He felt as if he could float away.
Is this what it is like? To feel free of burden?
He turned to Elrond, then was alarmed to see the tears. Thick, fat tears dripped and flowed down Elrond's face onto his hands in front of him.
"Why are you crying?"
"Because you are not, you idiot!" Elrond wiped away the tears, but they kept coming, flowing down his face like streams. "Because you wouldn't."
Thranduil lay down on the young grass and gazed at the moon and the stars. He touched his heart. He didn't think he could do it, but he did. He thought the abyss under his feet would swallow him when he opened himself like this, but the world did not come to an end. Instead, he felt calm as the forest in twilight when the sky is clear and deep blue as the first stars opened their bright eyes.
Thranduil inhaled the early summer air around him and felt the moonlight envelop him like his mother's gentle kiss on his brow. When did the moon felt so warm like this? Thranduil reached out a hand toward the moon.
"Thranduil." Elrond's voice was soft and barely audible.
And there it was. What he thought was impossible to achieve.
A gentle glow surrounded his hand. It was neither faltering nor faint. And he had not even tried to bring out his light.
Thranduil sat up.
The light was all around him. Taking a long breath, he reached inside and brought out his light. A silvery glow appeared on his hand forming into a ball of light. It was not a brilliant white like Elrond's. Instead, it glimmered soft and silvery like a piece of moonbeam.
"But the dragon blood. I thought…"
"This light is your light, Thranduil. Nothing that Morgoth or Sauron could do can stop its illumination. No darkness could prevent it."
Lady Melian said that, too. She said even the darkness of the clouds cannot block out his light, that it would always be there even when he did not feel it, even when he felt he did not deserve it. Had it always been with him?
"Our lights are always within us. We are the only ones who can block it. Only ones who can bring it forward," Elrond said. He was still crying.
"Stop crying, stupid."
"You first, idiot."
It was then that Thranduil noticed that he, too, was crying. Despite the tears falling like summer rain onto his light, it shone with unfaltering clarity.
Lisgaradh (Sindarin. Land of Reeds)- Land about the mouths of Sirion where the delta of the River Sirion fell into the sea. This fenland consisted of dense reeds and rushes which grew "man-high". After the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, in FA 473, when the havens of Brithombar and Eglarest ruled by Cirdan were destroyed, he and the remnant of his people established secret havens there. This is where the survivors of Doriath fled in FA 506, followed by the survivors of Gondolin in FA 511.
A/N: This is the last chapter for this section of the Gold Rings and Green Woods. Next section will start SA 720 and will occur mostly in the Greenwood the Great. As said before, I wouldn't be able to work/post this until sometime in April. Take care everyone and thank your for your interest.